


Checkmate

by akki_the_immortal



Category: Arc of a Scythe Series - Neal Shusterman
Genre: Enemies, First Arc of a Scythe fic?, Oh and also Scythe Curie being a little bit dead but let's ignore that, Other, Scythe Curie being a BAMF, Thunderhead Spoilers, Y e p, how does one tag things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28774578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akki_the_immortal/pseuds/akki_the_immortal
Summary: “The devil did not need to work at all when people were so willing to do his dirty work for him.”― E.A. Bucchianeri, Vocation of a Gadfly
Relationships: There aren't really any relationships - Relationship
Comments: 13
Kudos: 17





	Checkmate

“Scythe Curie.”

The lavender robed Scythe spun on her heel, her piercing gray eyes finding his own brown. She raised an eyebrow, shaking her graying hair out of her eyes. “Scythe Goddard.”

He held out his hand. “I believe we haven’t been formally introduced. I was—”

“Scythe Xenocrates’ apprentice, I know.” Her eyes narrowed, but her tone stayed even. “What can I do for you?”

He offered her a smile. “I was just wondering whether you and I can have a talk. This conclave is three days long, and if I’m being honest, I’ve been eager to meet you.” His lips pulled back into a wider grin.  _ Practiced _ . It was perhaps his greatest weapon, more than any blade. His control. His ability to deliver a threat with a smile and a gleam in his eye. “After all, you are the Grand Dame of Death.”

“Is that what they’re calling me these days?” She scoffed.

“I believe so.”

She let out a snort at his words but he ignored it, continuing on. “I was hoping we could meet at the hotel we’ve been confined to?”

“Hm.” Her head tilted again, peering at him with those invasive gray eyes. He held her stare, but he could feel his temper slipping. She was clearly suspicious of his intentions _.  _ But she was an incredible Scythe, there was no question.  _ And she could be an incredible ally too _ .

“Scythe Curie?”

“Very well.” She replied calmly. She loosed a smile of her own, just as dangerous and deadly as his. “I suppose we can talk, as you so eloquently put it.”

“Wonderful. The lounge at 3:30.” And he swept away, his blue robe billowing out behind him, the glittering blue gems sparkling in the rotunda hall.

Scythe Curie didn’t move, leaning against the rotunda wall. Her eyes tracked the back of the jewel studded Scythe, watching as he chatted with the High Blade and laughed with Parliamentarian. He was everything Scythes were seen to be.  _ And that’s what makes him dangerous. _

She sighed, turning back to the Scythes Mandela and Angelou, who were eagerly discussing the recent mass-gleanings preformed by the very “Honourable” Scythe she had just spoken to. Curie just nodded and smiled, her eyes straying to the growing storm outside. Snow and ice slammed against the windows of the rotunda, frosting over the clear glass.

* * *

The lounge of the hotel was elegantly decorated, the delicate designs dating far back into the mortal ages. Dark wooden tables were scattered around the carpeted landing, some occupied by some annoyingly familiar faces. Scythe Cervantes offered him a condescending glare from his spot next to the just-as-condescending Scythe Constantine. Other than their frosty looks, neither acknowledged him, instead turning back to their warm drinks and heated discussion. 

The room was actually fairly empty, the only other occupant sitting near the back, toying with a marble chess set in front of her. She moved the white queen to a dark coloured square, letting the cold stone pieces clack against the polished board.

“No need to look like a smirking cat Goddard.” She raised an eyebrow, resetting the board. “It’s rather bad manners to be late to your own meeting.”

Stone clacked against stone as she slid pieces back. Goddard slipped into the chair across from her, beckoning to the waiter instead of answering. The man looked terrified, his eyes wide. Goddard smirked, enjoying the twitching man’s vain attempts to control his terror. 

“I’ll have a coffee.” He drawled, leaning back. He turned to Scythe Curie, who was again regarding him with those sharp gray eyes. “And you?”

“Just tea. Milk, no sugar.” She replied, her tone almost annoyingly calm.

His eyes tracked the waiter as he wove through the clothed tables, nearly bumping to the departing red and brown robed Scythes Cervantes and Constantine, who smiled and nodded to Curie, sweeping out into the hall of the hotel. Goddard felt an amused smile cross his face, turning back to the older Scythe. She was already looking at him, her fingers drumming a beat against the wood table. _Those damn eyes._ She clearly knew this wasn’t a simple chat.

“So. Are you going to tell me what you’re meeting me for? This clearly isn’t for small talk.” Her expression betrayed nothing of her thoughts, just as composed as his own. Still, he smiled at her, that same calculated smile he knew best. “Who says this isn’t just a chat?”

“I do.” 

“Oh?” 

Her eyes narrowed slightly, her fingers stopping the beat. They held their stare for a heartbeat, their locked gaze broken as she tapped another rhythm. She didn’t respond, instead watching the waiter hurry back with their drinks.

“Hello your Honours— Here’s your— coffee, and— oh your tea—” He gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing. “Um— I’m so sorry it took—”

“It’s fine.” Curie sighed, taking the mug. Goddard wasn’t so fast.

“You took quite a long time.” He purred, a deadly glint in his eye. “That is unacceptable. I suggest—”

“I suggest you take a break.” Curie finished, taking a sip of her tea. She tilted her head towards the kitchen doors, then flicked her gaze back to the pale waiter. He took the hint, backing away from the two scythes.

Goddard narrowed his eyes as the stately scythe took a small sip of her tea. But he didn’t react. He never did.  _ Control _ .

He smiled, sipping his bitter drink. “Do you play?”

He gestured to the chess set, making sure the sleeves of his robe fanned out in a long arc of blue. She raised an eyebrow, but nodded sharply. He took another sip, tipping his head towards the board. “White goes first.”

She sighed, moving an ivory pawn forwards.

He matched her.

“Scythe Goddard—” Now she moved her knight, tapping the board twice as she slid the l-shape. “I’d rather you’d just tell me why you asked me here.”

Another smirk twisted his lips, sliding another dark pawn forward. “Your move.”

Her lips pressed into a tight line, but she moved her piece forward obligingly. 

Stone slid against stone as they traded blows, black and white pieces taken off on both sides. Goddard felt his lips twist into a frown as Scythe Curie pulled his knight off the board. He hissed, reaching to move his queen back. She grabbed his wrist. “I’ve come to appreciate directness, Scythe Goddard. Tell me.” Her voice was cold as she dropped his hand, sitting back. 

He smiled and fixed his sleeve. “I think you and I are very similar, Scythe Curie. We both want to change this world.” Her mouth opened to object, but he kept going. “When you got rid of the government, you changed the world. You let the Thunderhead take over. And look where we are now! We are respected,  _ feared _ . This is who we are, Curie. But impurities still exist. Copycats. Tonists. There are still things we can fix. Together.” He paused, and slid his bishop forward. “Your move.”

Her cold, gray eyes stared him, her jaw clenching. She lifted her queen, setting it down with a hard clack. “Terribly sorry to decline, but I am not interested in working with you,  _ Scythe Goddard _ .” She spat.

“Somehow I think your decision is a little too hasty.” His voice was soft and dangerous as he moved his piece.

“Not at all.” She moved her queen again, sliding it across to a black tile.

“Hm.” Goddard mused. He lifted his bishop, letting it hover in the air. He raised his brows in question, his smile turning more and more devilish by the second. She didn’t move. She didn’t blink. His lips curled as he dropped the dark bishop against the marble board, sweeping her queen to the side. “Check.”

It was now that she reacted, her brows lifting. “You play the game well. In more ways than one. But I’m still going to decline. No matter how much you try and convince me, or how many times you delay your moves just for dramatic effect.” She snapped.

Goddard shrugged, sipping at his coffee. “The old guard is dying, Marie. But from its ashes, the New Order rises.”

Her jaw tightened at his use of her first name, but she didn’t rise to his bait. “Look at that, you’ve given yourself a name.”

His eyes sparkled with malice, glittering over the edge of his cup. “Just as you are ‘Miss Massacre’, or rather, the Grand Dame of Death, I am the Angel of Death.” His words were loud as they bounced off the high arched walls of the lounge. “I am the future. And there is nothing you can change about that. All you can do is avoid your fate by joining my cause.”

“Is that a threat?” The sharpness in her voice could cut through flesh as well as his own blades. But all he returned was a smile. “If it must be.”

Her lips pursed, her nails clanking against the hard wood table. “I said I appreciate directness.”

It was a statement, and yet Goddard did not know what to do with it. “You did.”

“Hm.” Her eyes were cold and unfriendly, her fingers once again stopped their beat. “Well in that case, let me confess something. I think you are the worst kind of scythe. I think you are a disgrace to the name we carry, to the ring on your finger. I think that the gleanings you commit are not gleanings but murder. I think you are a monster. That is what I think of you, ‘Honourable Scythe’ Goddard.” 

Her voice had not raised the entire time, but her words carried an authority that even he had to admire. He took a sip of her drink, this time her expression showing every bit of hatred she carried for him. She smiled lightly at the look on his face, her focus dropping back down to the marble board. She lifted her rook, sliding the piece down to Goddard’s side of the board. “Checkmate.”

His mouth dropped open slightly at this surrounded king. He gaze shot to hers, his teeth grinding together. “Curie, I’m warning you—”

“Are you?” She leaned forwards. “You play the game well, but I’ve been playing it for longer.”

He hissed, his control fraying and snapping. He grabbed her wrist, pinning a knife against her light blue veins. She didn’t blink. The blade pressed deeper against her skin, a small line of blood dripping down the steel. “You’ll regret this.” He hissed quietly, his anger shifting to a still rage.

Pain shot through his arm as she slipped out of his grip, twisting his hand back. “I have regretted several things in my life, Scythe Goddard. This is not one of them.” She sighed. She dropped his wrist, taking a long sip of tea. Curie stood up, looking down at him. Her eyes bored into his skull, flicking with amusement. “I’ll see you at tomorrow’s conclave.”

* * *

The whir of the helicopter’s blades was a jarring sound, but Goddard found it oddly comforting. A smile flitted across his face as he surveyed the damage of Endura.

The sea crashed around the crumbling island, surging forwards with the power of the gods. _ The power of me _ . It thrashed and slammed relentlessly, the dark waves foaming white. The wind screamed with the Thunderhead, screaming at the cold blooded killer, it’s pleas falling on deaf ears. They could not touch the blue robed scythe, studded with jewels as blue as the raging sea below him. All he could hear was the screams of those who opposed him, all he could see was the lavender-clad woman plunging a knife through her heart. He ran his fingers over the cold hilt of his dagger, breathing in the salty mist.

“Checkmate.” He whispered, his words caught and thrown away in the wind.


End file.
